You Still Have Me
by Shiva Darkwater
Summary: When pushing away no longer works, everyone must confront the demons. Then you will know if you stay, or if you will leave forever. (Eiri centric)


**Author**: Shiva Darkwater | **Fandom**: Gravitation | **Rating**: R | **Summary**: When pushing away no longer works, everyone must confront the demons. Then you will know if you stay, or if you will leave forever. | **Status**: One shot | **Email**: melancholy@sunrise-sunset.com | **Disclaimer**: Gravitation is a work of Maki Murakami, I do not intend to infringe any copyright laws. | **Warnings**: Deals with the happenings of episode 13 and Eiri's past. | **Author's Notes**: I'd like to thank Ruby, my beta reader for this fic.  

You Still Have Me "You used to captivate me 

By your resonating light

But now I'm bound by the life you left behind

Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams

Your voice it chased away all of the sanity in me

These wounds won't seem to heal This pain is just too real There's just too much that time cannot erase" -- Evanescence "My Immortal" 

A flame briefly illuminated the dark room. A cigarette was lit and the man sighed before he inhaled the smoke. This was where it all ended, where the final piece of the puzzle was finally laid out. Ragged curtains rustled against the open window, exposing the room to the harsh weather of the outside. The entire place was in shambles; decrepit six years ago when he had first set eyes upon this building. And oh how he had wished that he would never have to set foot in there again.

Fate had brought him back there, or it would have if he had any belief in the word, but he didn't. Perhaps it was all destiny; that he, no matter what was forced to return there. No one could run away forever after all. But he preferred to think of it as his own choice. There, he was back. Now whatever demons plagued his heart and memories could be free. It was sort of like an old Buddhist purification method taught to him long ago. Older than his demons.

He sat on the sofa, which was covered in a white cloth to keep out the insects and rodents. New York was as crime infested as ever, not that he really noticed or cared. In a room down the hall he could hear voices, young, scared, just trying to hide away for the night. Maybe this had always been a safe house, protecting those who did cruel acts. He couldn't tell for certain. It wasn't his place to understand.

Golden eyes shut, blocking out the light of the moon that waxed above him. A half moon tonight, always gradually increasing, it poured its strength over the souls of the earth. How philosophical he was becoming as of late… what was its purpose?

He took in the room around him, the cockroach infested building that he alone sat in. But this wasn't where it all began. It began in his brother-in-law's Manhattan residence, a quiet, classy neighbourhood that could serve only the best for the new Japanese pop idol. A weekday after school, the two had been introduced. A sensei, a mentor, someone he could talk to about anything that he wished while his brother-in-law was away taking care of business. Finally someone that he could perhaps trust.

He was too protected; too naïve, too trusting and he fell into the trap almost immediately. He was a fool to believe all of the good news wouldn't come with a heavy consequence, but they always did. It started out grand, his mentor would tutor him in every subject: arithmetic, chemistry, history, English, and most importantly: life. He was an amazing person to talk to this mentor of his. An aspiring novelist, a soul that had witnessed many experiences and yet he knew how to still live day in to day out. He was a survivor. He was his beloved sensei. He would positively do anything for that man.

And he did.

It was gentle at first, all soft touches and hesitant kisses. Questions were asked and nods were eventually taken as answers. It had been his first kiss, his first love; it had been his first of everything. His sensei had made him feel special and he longed to feel this way forever. He loved the rush of adrenaline it caused him, sneaking around behind his brother-in-law's back, stealing innocent kisses with another without him ever knowing.

It had been so good, but anything good is never supposed to last for long. Everything good always has a consequence. And it was time for this consequence to come into play.

Suddenly the kisses and touches, the pats on the back that evoked encouragement, came less and less frequently. He had never asked about such things, just kept it all inside. It had stung, as if he was tossed aside and no longer useful. When he tried to induce his own, in a small fit of self-confidence and bravery, he was usually regarded with a curious look, a small smile, but nothing more. His brother-in-law was aware of the pain; he could see the concern written in those green eyes.

Yet along with this distance came something else. Instead of always remaining outside or in the classy, suburban mansion, he was invited to his mentor's home. Willing to do anything to make his sensei happy, he agreed, paying no heed to the warnings that he received from his brother-in-law. Happily, hand in hand the two they left together. From that day on they met at his mentor's home.

Well, once that bridge was crossed, a whole new world of opportunities lay in wait for them. Once adjusted to the new place, those wonderful kisses and touches, those delicious pats on the back for encouragement began all over again. At this time in his life he wasn't wary of consequence taking away his bliss. Now he would call himself a fool, for the real consequence was about to begin.

First he noticed the bottle. Average sized, simple brown-glassed bottle that stood empty on the coffee table. He remembered studying the label curiously; there was never anything like that in his brother-in-law's home. Soon another followed, standing proudly beside the first, also empty. A pattern developed, yet he wouldn't let himself concentrate on it for long before returning to his schoolwork.

His mentor had also changed. Sometimes when he would arrive at the doorstep for the session, he would find several bottles already scattered about the apartment, devoid of their contents already. His sensei's hands were clammy against his skin, yet not entirely unpleasant. However, it was futile to try and study in such circumstances. 

Teeth nipped at his ear, fingers trying to divest him of his clothing. But who was he to refuse him? Setting his book down, he gave in to every request made. He learned that it was better to co-operate than receive another bruise, though they were all easy to hide under clothing. His brother-in-law would never suspect a thing. He thought he was being quite clever in that aspect. If this was all it was, he could handle it.

But it only turned worse. The questions and requests stopped, but that didn't stop the nightly visits to his mentor's apartment. No class work was accomplished at night anymore; his high grades were slipping. And now it really hurt. More bottles were added to the old every day. There was no end to them.

Pinned down against the sofa cushions or shoved up against the wall. How many times did that bottle appear in his memory? It wasn't so bad back when it was only that one, but with one comes two and is followed by three and four until you suddenly cannot remember how high you're aiming to count to.

The kisses now mocked him with their sincere and tender fore-players.  Bruising caresses marred his pale skin and always, always that hushed, slurred, breathless voice against his ear that murmured his name over and over.

It felt like years that this had gone on. Too ashamed and embarrassed to confront his brother-in-law, he kept it all inside just wishing that his beloved sensei would become his self again. He cried himself to sleep at night, trying to think up excuses for why he couldn't go to his mentor's apartment and had to stay home. He was sick. He used that excuse so often that he began to doubt if people believed it. His grades at school were below average; he rarely attended classes for fear of being called on for his inexcusable failure. And always he could never get that voice out of his mind.

In the end it all drew to a close here. In this cockroach infested, dilapidated building. The fear, the agony that ate apart his insides, the way those hazel eyes froze his every movement and he couldn't breathe, couldn't say anything for fear of even worse treatment. Sixteen and all that he had to endure. Sixteen and nobody ever knew a fraction of the truth. And still that voice murmured his name against his ear, slurred, breathless. Another bottle dropped to the floor with a crash; a crash that was overpowered by the mechanical thunder of the handgun.

Four pulls on the trigger and it was done. His knees were weak and all around him was the smell of sex and blood. Five bodies were in that one worn down room with its cracks in the ceiling and the cockroaches making a nest in the corner; five bodies and only one was moving. Only one was alive.

Darkness pooled over his mind and narrow golden eyes opened. Six years had passed, but had they really done any good? He was still infested with the same demons, unable to speak of his shame or his desires. He had loved that man, his sensei. And he still did. He remembered crying, screaming into the night when his brother-in-law found him there, huddled over the dead corpse of his mentor. The last words that he had uttered had been his name, perfectly clear, and completely terrified. His sensei had become his self again, just before he died, and it was too late to save him.

He sighed, lighting another cigarette from the pack. How many was that now? Like those bottles he had lost track. He had taken up smoking after the tragedy, hoping it would ease his mind. His father had never questioned when he returned to his home in Kyoto earlier than planned, neither did his sister; they all shut it out, as if it had never happened. Only his ten-year-old brother gave him any of the comfort that he had ever needed. And for that he was thankful.

But now the game was truly over. He had lived longer than he had expected. He had come here tonight to put an end to the demons inside of his head, festering like the cockroaches in the room. He planned to silence those demons with his death. He would join his sensei now; they were long past due for a talk. He kicked the empty, six year old bottle that lay on the floor with the toe of his shoe, watching as it rolled directly to a rusty stain of blood. His sensei's blood…

Yet, as he drew the revolver out of his coat pocket, a flash of dark pink brushed across his mind. He paused to silently question before the memory invaded his senses. Warm lips, tender butterfly-like caresses and the most tender of blue eyes gazing at him; it seemed too unreal. Golden eyes were wide once again, scared, but the voice that breathed into his ear was soft and so clear and pure, "don't worry, we'll take it slow…"

That time it didn't hurt. It was an experience he had never envisioned. There was no pain involved, only stretches of pure ecstasy and bliss. Pleasure was shared between them as they were enfolded into each other's arms, the mattress sinking beneath their combined weight. Pink hair was threaded through his fingers, tucked underneath his chin and it felt almost… extraordinary to be held like this, filled like this yet with no pain.

By the end he was weeping, like so many other times in his past, yet for completely different reasons. He finally felt loved and whole, like he was pert of something that could only be cherished by two. And when he awoke the next morning with pink hair tucked underneath his chin, he knew that it was not a dream. All of those emotions that he had felt the night before were real, and the boy was still there in his arms to prove it.

And yet he was leaving that all behind? Gold eyes stared at the sticker he had pressed onto his lighter of the two of them together, happy, carefree… and yet he was leaving that all behind because good things never lasted. There was always the consequence to be met whenever your bliss is ever obtained. And so he was leaving it all before the consequence would take away his happiness once again.

A loud noise was heard in the distance, the cry of a wolf? No. A smirk crossed his lips and his golden eyes slid shut. Perhaps he would be forced to stay after all. No one could compete, let alone win against the force that was coming after him. Not even the demons inside of his head stood a chance. 

"Sorry sensei, it seems as if I'll have to postpone our talk once again," he sighed, resigning himself to fate, if he believed in such a thing that is, which he still didn't. He sat on that sofa that was covered by a white cloth in silence as he heard the noise grow closer and waited until that pink hair was tucked underneath his chin once more. 


End file.
